


I Need More Time

by magalix3



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Character Death, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mild Gore, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8457184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magalix3/pseuds/magalix3
Summary: Even though his time is up, Mark’s love for Youngjae is forever.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leprixx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leprixx/gifts).



Dusk settles abruptly. It furls around him; once supposed to protect him, once assuring, once promising a better tomorrow. There’s nothing but empty promises now, there’s no moon to light the dark night. He’s left without choices. All that is taken away, suddenly, like a heart attack erupting from slumber, all at once and over swiftly. 

Dusk settles abruptly, closing on Mark’s today and shutting tomorrow out.

**~ * ~**

Youngjae’s always been warm. A heat that stirs his veins, comes from his heart. It comes from his _soul_. From the very core of his existence; it’s tender in his laughter, in his eyes. It’s the light that shines from the inside, making him the sun in a universe of stars.

That’s what blinded Mark first. Youngjae’s light. Then he fell slowly, for bits and pieces, until he drowned in everything; peering into the nebula of Choi Youngjae, into the beautiful beyond that seemed still endless but safe to plunge into. And it had been as easy as Mark had never imagined, to fall in love with Youngjae, that is. So effortless. All he had to do was dive in and allow himself to get lost in the haze. He’d never again have to surface.

Youngjae fell in a similar fashion, unafraid of Mark’s dark, cold black hole, finding that there was light in other spaces.

When Mark is forced to rise out of the galaxy of Youngjae, nothing’s the same. He’s cold and wet, suffocating, gasping for air and unable to pretend that it’s going to be okay.

When Mark is given his wings, long and dark like a crow’s, he understands his duties and inquires something darker and colder than the depths own his own cosmos could reach, “What can I do to make sure Youngjae lives?”

He feels no need to worry over his own soul, he’s dead anyway. So he vows to take care of the one he left behind.

**~ * ~**

Mark doesn’t make the rules, they’re already laid out. His assignments are provided to him through an old scroll, a tapered parchment that reveals a new name when it’s opened. It’s so damning, but the names are printed in gorgeous calligraphy, bold and sensual, as if written with adoration.

Im Jaebum  
January 6, 1994

Their birthdays are already there, and Mark has to write in their deaths.

Jaebum is a healthy boy, young and aggressively in his prime. Mark keeps a close eye on him for a few days. Nowhere is it written that he is to interfere. He only has one purpose. So he watches as the time above Jaebum’s head gets increasingly closer to zero.

It hits the twenty-four hour marker and Jaebum’s smiling with his girlfriend, unaware. 

It hits the twelve hour marker and he’s getting up to have dinner with his family.

It hits the ten minute marker, and Mark gets closer. He lingers and waits for life to live out its’ course and end Jaebum. The Angel of Death only appears after the curtain close. 

Jaebum is in the dangerous part of the city, a place where uprisings a part of the day-to-day, and Jaebum falls victim. In the midst of the chaos of a riot gone haywire, Jaebum reaches for a stranger’s child at this side to protect her. All it takes is a bullet in his chest, and Mark waits patiently as with each drop of lost blood, seconds filter away from Jaebum’s timeline. 

Mark appears like a dream, plucking a black feather from his wings. It falls, white now that it’s been plucked, and seems mistakenly harmless. Jaebum has reached the point where he no longer feels the bullet in his chest. He can see clearly again, and the first thing he catches a glimpse of is the white feather dropping, and the image of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen standing before him.

The feather darkens at Jaebum’s touch, an inky black coating the wing from where his fingers had touched. He’s understandably bewildered, and if there’s any semblance of humanity left in Mark’s heart, it shows when he doesn’t allow Jaebum to see the sight of his carcass still bleeding. Mark’s own angel hadn’t been so kind to him, and he sees his own glassy eyes in Jaebum’s.

“Who are you?” Jaebum asks faintly, not looking for the truth. 

Mark provides it anyway. “An Angel of Death. I’m taking you to the afterlife.” 

He makes sure to take his feather back before ushering Jaebum to his fate. He parts with a wave, a poor and useless comfort.

**~ * ~**

The blackness of the feather seeps into Youngjae’s body. It’s visible through his skin as it runs its’ course through his veins like parasites. Youngjae’s timeline creeps back up as the feather works its’ magic in a way that ‘magic’ isn’t a sufficient enough word. The feather is innocently white again, soft against Youngjae’s skin.

Mark can’t feel it, but Youngjae’s heart flutters hopefully. All he can see is that the nurses rush in, curious about the miraculous recovery in his vitals.

**~ * ~**

Kunpimook Bhuwakul  
May 2, 1997

It's written in that same, delightful script as everyone else’s. Mark finds this boy that’s next in line, a young, chubby-cheeked boy who’s brilliantly alive with a youthful humor and aura. He’s running errands, shopping bags hooked over his arms as he speaks into his cell phone in a tongue that’s foreign to Mark, but understood to his angel ears. Kunpimook still has a week left on his timeline, so Mark sticks around. He listens to meaningless promises and voided future plans. He thinks, if he were still human, he’d enjoy Kunpimook’s energy. However, it’s all pointless now.

Twenty-four hours beforehand, he’s packing his belongings into a suitcase.

Twelve hours beforehand, Kunpimook is telling his mother he can’t wait to see her. He’s catching the earliest flight to Thailand.

One hour beforehand, and every number of every passengers’ are diminishing. It’s a hopeful sight for Mark, he can fill many feathers in here, even though there are angels appearing at every which corner of the airplane.

Minutes beforehand, the plane hits severe turbulence.

The plane crashes onto land, allowing for more survivors than had it gone into the ocean, and Mark kneels before Kunpimook. He’s more alive than the rest of the passenger’s, close enough to the edge but still just there enough that he’s desperate for a miracle. Mark appears like a desert mirage, beautifully embodying hope.

“You’re an angel.” Kunpimook coughs weakly, blood spurting from his lips.

There will be no repercussions for ending Kunpimook’s pain moments sooner than decided by the heavens. The angel reaches out, voice as clear as the skies, wanting to quickly take away the pain.

“It’s time to go. Come with me.”

Kunpimook accepts his fate as Mark’s black wings spread out from behind him, powerfully ethereal. His head dips forward as the angel presses a feather to his forehead. He can’t feel it as it trails over his nose, his lips, and down to his bleeding chest.

Luckily for him, Kunpimook doesn’t notice the way Mark’s eyes pool over, black as a demon’s, complimenting his wings instead of his blond hair.

Mark sees his own body in the unnatural bend of Kunpimook’s leg, and doesn’t allow that to become the travelers last visual. It’s hopeless, but in honor of the friendship Mark believes he and this human could’ve had, he wraps himself and his wings around the young boy. He leads him carefully over the bodies and away from this life.

**~ * ~**

Mark thinks he can feel Youngjae’s breath on his palm. But it’s just the memory of long nights spent just talking in bed. It’s the memory of Youngjae’s favorite habit; kissing Mark’s palm as he holds his curved jaw in his hands. Mark wishes he could feel Youngjae’s breath again. If only he could, once more, in the moment where Youngjae wakes from his coma. Mark wants to feel his first breath as the love of his life opens his eyes for the first time in weeks.

As Youngjae’s eyes open, life and coherency filling him back up, Mark helplessly wishes to trade all his previous wishes for a new one; the chance for Youngjae to see him again. Their last memory was a good one, them singing along to the radio and chatting happily about a television show; mundane things that Mark had never thought twice about. But that’s what Mark longs for. A chance to speak to his boyfriend, just one more time.

He took Jaebum’s, Kunpimook’s, and the lives of many others for this, so why can’t he be allowed this one thing?

**~ * ~**

Mark revisits the hospital for the first time again weeks after Youngjae’s release, in search of more months to give to the love of his life. Straying too far from his old apartment is a painful thing to do, but Youngjae’s packing up. Mark can’t blame him for not having the heart to stay in the apartment he shared with his dead boyfriend.

Kim Yugyeom  
November 17, 1997

Yugyeom is one of the saddest cases Mark’s had to help cross over. Yugyeom peers upwards at the ceiling as the seconds tick away. He peers upwards as if he could see them. His body acknowledges its’ fate, and Yugyeom closes his eyes half an hour before his time, relaxing into the bedsheets.

Ten minutes beforehand, his mother tells him she loves him.

Five minutes beforehand, his father tells him to be strong, he can fight the cancer.

But Yugyeom’s cheeks are hollow, pale, his eyes sunken. Mark can see death in the patient’s eyes. Acceptance and death. Until the timer is out and Yugyeom’s staring forlornly at his parents, nurses rushing in as his vitals flatline.

Yugyeom’s body isn’t mangled, but Mark gently guides his gaze away, pulling the patient's face towards him. Yugyeom’s handsome in death, cheeks full and gaze no longer exhausted with disease. Yugyeom takes in the sight before him, a gorgeous man with soft skin and unreadable eyes. He takes the white feather as it's’ handed to him, watching silently as the color shifts to black.

“I’m ready to go.”

Yugyeom’s the youngest person Mark’s ever led to the afterlife. He accepts it as practice.

**~ * ~**

Youngjae stands in the room, the faint echo of Mark’s laugh skittering through the emptiness. It lives in captured moments in photos of them, over the memories that paint the now empty corners, over the stories that the new tenants will never see but Youngjae will cherish forever. Youngjae dreams of Mark coming home. Dreams a dream of love treasured more than gold.

He closes the door to the apartment for the last time, but can still hear a whisper of his ex-boyfriend’s lovely voice. It’ll never go away, and he’ll learn to cope.

Mark doesn’t dream anymore, but he wants, more than anything, to be with his loved one.

**~ * ~**

It doesn’t matter how much he wants it, how much he yearns to be with Youngjae again, Mark never allows himself to be greedy. He takes the life of those that are close to their own ends, and transfers life into Youngjae.

There’s no inclination of it. There’s no pain when it happens, no feeling at all. Mark transfers life into him as he sleeps. Not that his loved one could see angels, anyway. But Mark can’t bear being with him during daytime hours, when he’s awake and alive.

Mark’s lost all feeling. He no longer feels the winter against his cheeks or fingertips, doesn’t feel the ocean’s saltwater on his feet, doesn’t feel hunger, lethargy or sadness. He’s an entity of the cosmos now, comprised of the stardust of a lost soul with a black pit in the place of where his heart once was. It’s not clear to him if he’s made of anything tangible; the sun shines through his body and doesn’t shadow behind him. There’s not even a ripple, there isn’t anything signifying that there’s a person between the sunshine and the wall. He doesn’t exist. But that black pit does. That hole in his chest is the only thing he ever feels. A vacancy where Choi Youngjae will always have claim over.

Youngjae returns to work, does well in physical therapy, bounces back with vigilance. And on the nights where he crumbles, where all the stars in his eyes collapse and he gives in to grief, Mark isn’t able to stay. There’s nothing he can do as Youngjae curls on Mark’s side of the bed, sobbing and clutching desperately onto pillow he once slept on.

On those nights, Mark visits his own grave, crying even though he’s no longer able to produce tears.

**~ * ~**

Youngjae’s life takes off in the direction that Mark’s vowed to protect. He stumbles at first, defeated by the loss of his adoring boyfriend, but Youngjae is so, _so_ strong. Stronger than Mark could ever be. It makes sense that he lived through the accident. He gets through college, studies hard through a Master’s degree and charms his way through career interviews. He’s always been driven and determined, striving for greatness. Youngjae wants to give with his life. And even after death, Mark supports that greatness.

As Youngjae heals, not perfectly, still scarred but healing, Mark puts distance. He spends less time with Youngjae, spends less time floating around the apartment, and learns to let go. He’s not good at it, but he learns distance. He collects his black feathers and releases them dozens at time, adding months at a time to Youngjae’s life, those visits far apart.

**~ * ~**

Park Jinyoung  
September 22, 1994

Mark finds the boy in his apartment home, sleeping on the couch, ten hours before death.

It’s been a very long day for Mark, so he accepts this time as downtime, until an alarm is ringing and Jinyoung is grumbling to himself, pulling the covers off. Mark listens as he sings in a voice so beautiful he could be an angel. Maybe he’ll become one after death. Mark isn’t sure why he was chosen as an Angel of Death, and has never once questioned it.

The sun is strong today, and Jinyoung rushes out the front door while lathering lotion on his face. Mark’s eerily curious as to why, as Jinyoung gets into a van with his friends, that his is the only timeline that’s running low. Mark sits in the back of the car, observing. Mark listens to Jinyoung talk, listens to his banter and his jokes, and thinks that his death will be a shame.

But this isn’t his decision to make. An exception was made for Youngjae and none else will be made for another. So Mark blocks out the chatter going on inside the van, watching as the scenery changes from stiflingly urban to freely countryside. The day transitions from real-life bustle to the leisure of a day off.

Jinyoung drowns in the reservoir, the undertow taking him down as if he were an inexperienced swimmer. He has a few moments left on his timeline but Mark appears like a light through the murky waters, pressing a feather plucked from his wings, to Jinyoung’s chest.

“Let go.” He says, and Jinyoung takes his last gulp of water. All the pain goes away, and Mark takes his hand, smiling.

“A-Are you…? Am I…?”

“Don’t worry.” Mark says softly, his wings carrying them upwards. “Everything will be okay.”

**~ * ~**

It’s been a while, it’s been a _very_ long while, so when Mark takes his collection of feathers to Youngjae’s apartment, he’s startled by another presence.

There was never a doubt that Youngjae would move on and find someone else. He’s an angel of the Earth holding the universe in his soul, it reflects in his eyes. As his laughter fills the apartment, the sound of another shrill laugh follows behind. It fills the apartment with a kind of warmth that Mark could never match. He swears he can feel it.

Mark can’t jump to conclusions, but this man, the man he assumes is Youngjae’s new boyfriend, mirrors none of Mark’s own qualities. He’s forgotten much about himself over the years, molding into the Angel of Death he should be, but he knows his voice could _never_ match the intensity this new man has. He could never match the energy. He could never match the size of his biceps. This new guy is a wonder; shorter and stronger and much less shy. But he’s not pushy, and Mark watches as this blond guy floats around Youngjae, making him laugh until there are tears in his eyes.

It’s arduous to stand there and watch his ex-boyfriend flirt with someone new, but Mark isn’t sure he feels sadness when he sees that the universe is back in Youngjae’s gaze again.

“Hey, Jackson?” 

Mark tries saying this new guy’s name. _Jackson._

“Yeah, babe, what’s up?”

Mark isn’t sure how much of their relationship he’s missed, how far along they are to be using pet names, but Youngjae blushes. It’s cute. Mark’s glad to see it again.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?”

Jackson’s body stills, but his gaze and smile are channeling all that energy, buzzing with happiness.

“You want me to stay?”

“Yeah, for a movie, let’s order pizza?” It’s shy like a first time. This is Jackson’s first time over. Their relationship is moving slow, and Jackson respects the pace.

Jackson is unashamed as he drops himself on the couch. He transitions the mood from awkwardness to eagerness in moments, until he’s stopping mid sentence, entranced by a photo on the coffee table. It’s unhidden. It’s proud, placed purposefully to be seen by everyone that comes through the apartment.

Jackson’s hands are rough and strong, but he’s gentle when he lifts up the framed photo.

He mumbles something, and Youngjae’s ears perk at the nostalgic sound of, “Chinese?”

Jackson glances up. He doesn’t recognize the look, but Mark does. He sees the reflection of their shared memories in Youngjae’s eyes.

“You speak Chinese?”

Jackson nods his head, careful. “Yeah, I’m from Hong Kong.”

Youngjae’s thinking about Taiwan. He’s thinking about Mark Tuan. He’s thinking about the boy in the photo. And in shaky Chinese he mumbles, _I love you and miss you._ Mark used to say it to him all the time.

Jackson’s still for the first time all night, patient and understanding, glancing at the photo of Youngjae being kissed by a handsome man he doesn’t recognize.

“That’s Mark Tuan. My ex-boyfriend.” Jackson stiffens slightly at the words. “He died five years ago. We were in a car accident. I lived and he... didn’t.”

Jackson chokes up, lips pressing together in a fine line. He grabs for Youngjae’s hands, forcing them apart to hold them in his own, showing Youngjae that he can be leaned on. He envelops Youngjae in a hug, embraces him in a way that Mark will never be able to, and Youngjae buries into his chest. He’s small in Jackson’s sincere comfort.

“I’m so sorry to hear it.”

Mark watches for moments longer, watches past the point of hurt until he’s numb. He watches until the numbness fades away, until the pain comes back. This is him letting go. This is him realizing that Jackson sees the same galaxy Mark once did. This is Mark realizing that Jackson can tap into it just like he once did.

Mark brings his feathers with him as he exits, walking away from Youngjae for what should be the last time.

**~ * ~**

Mark visits his own grave sometimes. Sometimes his mother is there, or his sister or his father. A few times Youngjae has been there, crying into a bouquet of tulips.

This time, a long time after he’s left Youngjae’s apartment, he finds Youngjae and a familiar face by his gravestone. It’s Youngjae and Jackson. 

Youngjae’s older, matured, but still as youthful as ever. Jackson’s older, but still holds that same light he did the last time Mark saw him. His brown hair makes him look younger, and it hurts Mark to admit they look good standing next to each other, holding hands.

“Mark…” 

Mark can’t remember when was the last time he heard Youngjae say his name.

“Mark, I want you to meet Jackson, and Coco. Remember when we made plans to get a dog? Well, I finally got one. She still pees in the house, though. We’re working on it.” 

Coco is small and white, a ball of fluff that sits on Mark’s grave. Jackson’s quiet for a moment, never letting go of Youngjae’s hand.

“I just… I wanted you to meet them.”

And Jackson smiles softly, “It’s nice to meet you, Mark.” speaking to the name carved on the grey headstone.

Mark buries his face in his hands, standing there for as long as the couple does, silently paying their respects. It’s still until Youngjae’s cell rings, and he steps away to speak to his mother.

Once he’s out of earshot, Jackson gets closer, touching the gravestone. Then, in Chinese, Jackson mumbles, “I’m taking care of him -- Youngjae, y’know. I’m taking good care of him. But sometimes I think he takes better care of me.” And Jackson pauses with a smile, but continues without a hitch. “We live together now, it’s been a little more than a year and things are great. And I hope you don’t think I’m trying to fill your shoes, I’m not. I’m not here to replace you.”

Mark’s moved closer to the gravestone, now standing only feet in front of Jackson. There’s the briefest moment when Jackson glances up, a moment in which Mark imagines that they make eye contact. They’re connected; their love for Youngjae strongly shared. And Mark can’t hate him. He could never hate Jackson.

“You’re still in Youngjae’s heart. And I love you, too. And I’m so sorry that this is my first time coming out here, that’s so not fair to you. But I always felt like I was intruding when Youngjae came to visit you. He can sit here all day.”

Mark clenches his teeth, feeling his face burning. If he could cry, he would.

“So, I thought you’d wanna know… I’m gonna propose. I bought this ring…” 

Mark’s burying his face in his hands again, chest constricting, head hurting. It’s not a real pain, but he _feels_ it. He has a hard time getting himself to look at the ring. But there’s two there, two simple, diamond-encrusted bands. One for Youngjae and one for Jackson.

“I hope I have your blessing.”

Mark reaches out for Jackson, but he can’t make contact.

He wants to tell him, _yes!_ He wants to tell him that Youngjae deserves the world and he can see clearly that Jackson’s trying to give him the universe. He can _see_ it. He can feel it. And he loves Jackson for loving Youngjae, even if it hurts.

Jackson gently rubs the top of the gravestone. “I’ll see you later, Mark.” And he steps aside as Youngjae comes back. As Jackson pulls Coco aside to give Youngjae a moment alone at the gravestone. And Mark kneels at Youngjae’s side. He gets as close as he can. He tries to imagine what his cologne must now smell like, tries to imagine how his hair would feel through Mark’s fingers. And he listens to every word Youngjae has to say, allowing this last moment with him. This isn’t the last time Youngjae will come visit. He’ll continue to come on the anniversary of his death. He’ll come back to share the news of his promotion, his mother’s birthday, Coco’s birthday, the proposal. He’ll tell the story of how Jackson nervously dropped the rings and they had to move the couches to find them. He’ll laugh and smile and tell Mark about how Jackson cried when he said yes. But Mark isn’t going to come back to listen to it. 

Mark thinks he might be able to feel the sun, this one last time, with Youngjae at his side.

Youngjae tells Mark he loves him, promises to be back later, and steps away to greet Jackson by the car with a loving kiss. 

It’s then that Mark realizes that the couple has the exact time left on their timelines. They’re synchronized to the exact second. Mark turns away, emotions hurtling from his chest in a grieving sob.

**Author's Note:**

> it's been such a long time since i've written angst lol. i think my angst muse is gone after this. unless nana decides to bring it back. she's always behind my more angsty fics so huuuuuuuuuuge shout out and abraços pra minha querida!!  
> & it's angel!mark http://pa1.narvii.com/5941/1f2c27b7b842e46632081d217e4e5b69c049ea20_hq.gif 
> 
> anyway. i know this is a little late, but happy halloween!


End file.
